


Those Who Wait

by trustingHim17



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Pre-War, Waiting, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustingHim17/pseuds/trustingHim17
Summary: In the two years since he had last heard from his friend, he had never hated his increasing age more than when Mycroft told him Holmes had missed a check-in.
Kudos: 9





	Those Who Wait

I stared through the fire, seeing memories instead of the flames. I was walking through Regent’s Park. I was taking notes at a crime scene. I was chasing an escaping criminal a step behind Holmes.

The worry twisted in me, and I tried not to let it take hold, but I saw no reason to deny the memories.

Quiet evenings at Baker Street with Holmes on the other side of the fire. Train rides to our infrequent cases outside of London. Prank wars in April. Christmas surprise attempts in December.

A faint smile appeared at the thought. It was a rare thing over the years for me to succeed in keeping his present a secret, at least after the first year. The first year had caught him completely off guard, and I had come to cherish the memory of him completely speechless at the sight of the Christmas present in his hand. He had never voiced even a thank you, but he had worn it for years through fading, chemistry explosions, and other incidents, only getting rid of it when I had finally replaced it when he retired. Using it until it fell apart showed his thoughts on the gift more than any thanks ever could.

Where was he? Was he alright?

Our rare holidays outside the city. Long afternoons at his cottage in Sussex. Denying his attempts to get me to help him with his bees.

Was he in danger? Was he—?

I tried to turn my thoughts back to the more distant memories, but the phone call still rang in my mind, despite my attempts to block it out.

“He did not call, Doctor.” Mycroft’s voice had been quiet, nearly subdued, when I had called for an update after Holmes should have checked in with Mycroft.

Shock had left me speechless for a moment. “I do not think I heard you correctly,” I had finally said, nearly stuttering. Surely, there had been interference in the ‘phone line? He couldn’t have said—

“You heard me, Doctor. My brother did not call.”

I had frozen, horrifying possibilities racing through my mind. Mycroft was just as difficult to read as his brother, but by his voice, I knew he carried the same worry that was now plaguing me.

In the two years that Holmes had been away doing a job for the government that he could not describe to me, he had never before missed a check-in.

“Is—Did the two of you establish a back-up time?”

Mycroft had hesitated for a long moment as my dread grew. “He missed that, too.”

My knees had nearly buckled, and I had lowered myself into the closest chair, barely conscious of the telephone in my hand as I fought to convince myself that missing a call did not mean—

“Doctor!”

“I am still here, Mycroft.” My voice sounded wrong even to my own ears, and I knew the elder Holmes would be able to read my every thought through the tone of my voice.

“If something permanent had happened,” his voice had steadied, coming through the line to reassure me, “we would know by now. In all probability, he simply had to travel on short notice and could not be near the telephone. We had one more contingency plan for such an occasion.”

“Which was?” I asked when he fell silent.

“You.”

“Me? How am I your contingency plan?”

“We agreed that in the case that he was unable to reach a telephone or had somehow been compromised, he would send you an urgent telegram containing only his initials and an encoded location.”

I had understood his meaning in an instant. “As I have little talent for cracking codes, I would take the telegram to you.”

“Precisely. Stay where you can be found, Doctor. He will contact one of us as soon as he is able to do so.”

Three days later, we still had heard nothing, and I fought my growing worry just as I fought my desire to go after him. I would willingly go wherever he needed me, but I had no idea where he was.

The last we had heard, he was in New York, but that had been over a month ago. Mycroft had thought he would have gone on to Ireland after New York, but Holmes was going to give the details during this meeting. I had told him that I would board the first ship out if he needed me, but I could hardly do that without a destination.

And that was ignoring that I would be useless in any precarious situation. I had only just gotten full mobility back after a fall. The cold had delayed my healing, and my balance had not yet fully returned.

I had never hated my increasing age more. For all that Holmes and I were so close in age, he had none of the aftereffects that I dealt with from my war injuries. _He_ was still fully mobile, no matter the weather, but increasing age affected my old wounds more with every passing year. The cold of London was getting too much for me. I barely recovered from one winter before the next descended, but I could not leave. I did not dare move to Holmes’ cottage, no matter that finding me there on his return would be a marvelous surprise to pull off. I could not make it conspicuous that he was out of the country, and moving into his cottage would make his absence glaringly obvious.

Pounding on the door interrupted my thoughts, and I pulled myself to my feet. A young boy stood on my front step, holding his bicycle upright with one hand and offering a telegram with the other.

Closing the door as the boy rode away a farthing richer, I checked the envelope before opening it and breathed a sigh of relief.

It was not labeled urgent.

With my primary worry out of the way, I opened the envelope absently, wondering who would have sent me a telegram when almost everyone I knew had a telephone. If it was not Holmes—

My breath caught in my throat.

I HAVE ONE ITEM NOT FIFTEEN STOP MADE BY MILITARY FIT FOR SETTLEMENT STOP SEE YOU FRIDAY STOP REGARDS FROM GLORIA STOP CHCL3 FINAL STOP

Only Holmes could have sent such a telegram, and I struggled to understand it. It had not been labeled urgent, but I still needed to know what he was telling me. Something in me chimed that I recognized the code, and I stared at the words. I would give it an attempt before making the journey to the Diogenes.

One item? Made by the military? Who was Gloria?

The ringing of the telephone interrupted my thoughts, and I debated ignoring it. I could not leave to see to a patient. What if Holmes was in danger?

Common sense won over my hesitance, however, and I answered mid-ring.

“Doctor Watson speaking.”

“Doctor.” Mycroft’s voice came through the line, and I was glad I had answered. “Sherlock is safe, though moving quickly. He had barely enough time to confirm that he is well before he had to ring off.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Did he say anything else?”

“Apparently, he was on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic when he was supposed to call.”

Mycroft’s voice carried a hint of irritation, but I barely noticed it as I gasped, suddenly realizing what I recognized about the code.

“That is it!”

“What is it?”

I did not answer, frantically rereading the telegram as I counted words.

“Doctor! What is it?”

“He sent me a telegram,” I finally said. “It arrived not ten minutes ago, but without an urgent label on it. I knew I recognized the code, but I could not remember from where until you mentioned a ship. Just a moment.”

I read over the message I had found, confirming I had it right.

“Well?” he asked when I did not speak quickly enough.

“His telegram said, ‘I have one item, not fifteen. Made by military fit for settlement. See you Friday. Regards from Gloria. Signed, CHCL3.”

Mycroft barely hesitated. “Did he not solve a case relating to a ship called the _Gloria_?”

“Yes,” I answered. “The _Gloria Scott_ , where a message was sent using a third-word code. He wants me to meet him at Harwich station on Friday, whose name derives from the old English for military settlement.” My eyes landed on the signature. “And he wants me to bring chloroform. What in blazes is he _doing_?”

I would have sworn a chuckle came through the line. “I cannot say over the ‘phone. Yours is not a secure line, but I do believe you will appreciate the results.”

Hope soared through me. “You mean—?”

“Yes, Doctor. You know exactly what I mean.”

I could not kill the wide grin that spread across my face, but I did not voice my thoughts on that. Mycroft would be able to hear the smile in my voice, despite my grumbling tone. “Does he know I am going to kill him for worrying me for three days?”

There was a long silence, and I knew Mycroft had covered another chuckle. “He did mention something about that during his call, but I would imagine he hopes you will save that until after the mission.”

I smirked, wondering just what the best way to pay him back would be. “That would probably be why he gave me another three days after his message before I would meet him.”

“Shall I try to warn him?”

I grinned. It was rare for Mycroft to join Holmes’ and my banter. “Why not help me, instead?”

He made no answer, and I did not push him. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

He thought for the briefest moment. “I do not believe so. You will not need to borrow a motorcar.”

It was a request for confirmation more than a statement. “I will not,” I answered.

“You will see him before I do, then. Do tell him to shave, will you?”

The line went dead, leaving me staring at the phone in confusion. What had he meant by that?

**Author's Note:**

> There is a sequel (of sorts) to this one over at Watson's Woes JWP 2020 chapter 1: Homecoming
> 
> Feedback is always greatly appreciated :)


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